


The Cat Came Back

by kindagay (Rudeandnotginger)



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Injury, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rudeandnotginger/pseuds/kindagay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She recalls a time when she thought that he would be the one taking care of her injuries and almost laughs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat Came Back

**Author's Note:**

> obligatory JD didn’t die fic.  
> i don't really know what i'm doing.  
> there are apparently two sherwood ohios, but i picked the one near cinci bc it’s a shithole but i love it.  
> probably wildly inaccurate medical stuff. i am a sociologist, not a doctor.

Veronica jumps when the phone rings. The police have finally left her in peace and she’s barricaded herself in her room despite her concerned parents shouting at her through the door. She picks up the receiver, curling her fingers anxiously around its blue cord.

“Hello? I’ve had kind of a long day, so if you could make it quick I’d appreciate it.”

Shallow breaths fill the other end of the line. “I need help.”

Veronica feels her heart jump in her chest. “...JD?” she asks. She wants to make some kind of joke about the fact that _hell yeah_ he needs help but shock leaves her slightly mute.

“Yes. Look, fuck,” JD coughs wetly and the line crackles on Veronica’s end, “I really didn’t want to have to call you but I can’t take care of myself right now. You fucked me up pretty bad, Veronica…”

“What do you want, exactly?” she asks, anxiety and anger fueling her impatience.

“I’m on a payphone in downtown Cincinnati and I just- if you could come to my hotel room and help patch me up a little... Look, I just need help this once and then I’ll be out of your hair. Out of the state, country even. Scout’s honor.”

“I don’t owe you anything. How the hell are you even alive?”

There’s a loud bang and then a rattle on the other side of the line followed by JD hissing in pain. “Christ Veronica, I’ll tell you when you get here. Why do you always have to be so difficult?”

Silence hangs for a moment and Veronica finally replies, “ _When I get there._ How presumptuous of you. Goodbye, JD.”

“Wait wait wait, please, don’t hang up,” JD rasps, feeling a surge of relief when there’s no dial tone after a few minutes have passed.

“What.” 

“Do you really want another death on your conscience?” he asks, pausing for a moment, “because that’s what’ll happen if I don’t get this bullet wound taken care of. Please.”

“Why don’t you ask your dad?”

JD laughs. “You really think I didn’t try?”

Veronica exhales hard through her nose. “Okay. Fine. Try to stay alive till I get there. What’s the address?”

Once she has the location of the hotel, Veronica shoves the family first aid kit into a canvas bag along with some pain relievers, snacks and plenty of water bottles. She leaves her parents a note saying that she’s at Martha’s to recuperate before snatching her dad’s keys from the counter. 

The drive isn’t too long. Before she knows it she’s pulling into the parking lot of a shitty motel in the heart of downtown Cincinnati. Adrenaline buzzes through her and she feels surprisingly confident despite the fact that the entire situation is ridiculously stupid and reckless. She walks to the room number he gave her and knocks.

She swallows hard as JD pushes the door open, looking almost surprised to see her at first and eventually gesturing for her to enter theatrically, wincing when the action stresses his injuries. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“Uh huh,” Veronica says absently, quickly scanning the room for weapons. It’s mostly empty, save for some discarded clothes in the corner of the room and grocery bags from the convenience store next door.

JD limps over to the twin bed and gingerly lifts the white undershirt he’s wearing enough for Veronica to see the bloodstained bandages wrapped inexpertly around his stomach. “As you can see, I tried to stop the bleeding. It didn’t really work. That bullet needs to come out first.”

Veronica stares at him, still not used to the idea of her (ex?) boyfriend being anything but a smudge on the football field. She isn’t sure what to feel. He seemed to have fared well enough, though, because his injuries from the explosion look fairly minor in comparison to what she had expected. He had somehow managed to escape the bomb with only blistering second-degree burns snaking down the back of his neck and left arm. 

“The problem with fireproof safety vests,” JD says, seemingly reading her mind, “is that they don’t really cover much.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Also, they’re apparently not bulletproof. Who knew. Thanks for that, by the way.”

This elicits a scowl from Veronica. “Do you want me to help you or not?” she asks, and waves her hand towards the first aid kit she’s laid out on the floor.

JD’s eyes go wide with panic. “Yes, please. I’m sorry,” he says, moving to remove his undershirt fully and groaning when his arms hit the halfway point, snapping them back down and wheezing as his eyes fill with tears. “Ah. I forgot, I had to cut the other layers off. I’m not really all here. Could you…?”

In response, Veronica bends down and begins awkwardly snipping through the thin ribbed fabric of the shirt with surgical scissors, her forced distance from him making the action difficult. After she cuts completely through the neck of the shirt, JD wraps his hand gently around her wrist. She fights back a cringe.

“You might need to get a little closer to do a lot of this. I won’t bite,” he says, looking at her wearily. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days and although most of the smoke residue and ash has been washed from his face, plenty of bruises and superficial cuts from their fight remain.

She blinks at him and pulls her hand from his loose grip, pressing the back of it to his forehead. He looks puzzled. 

Veronica furrows her brow. She sets the scissors down on the bed, takes a water bottle from her canvas bag and shoves it into his hands. “I think you might be in shock. Drink,” she says, pulling a quilt from the foot of the bed and wrapping it around his shoulders.

Very hesitantly, Veronica clips through the bandages and gets to work, kneeling in front of JD to have better access to the afflicted area. Blood starts to pour from the puncture wound almost instantly. She recalls a time when she thought that he would be the one taking care of her injuries and almost laughs.

JD makes a whining noise when Veronica reaches for the hydrogen peroxide and she halts her hand mid-air. “What?” she asks.

“Just rinse it with water,” he jerks his head towards the water bottles spilling out of her bag, “alcohol’s no good. It cleans, yeah, but it eats away at tissue and makes healing a bitch. Though if you have any for me to drink, I would not be opposed.”

“Oh.” Veronica ignores the last comment and scrambles over to grab a water bottle, pouring it onto his exposed stomach. JD winces from the cold and jerks reflexively. The blood clears from the area for a moment but is quickly replaced by more. 

“You’ve got to… use the forceps to get the bullet out, now,” JD says, each word tugging sharply at his stomach.

“Oh. Okay.” She lifts the forceps and tries to control her shaking. The idea of fishing around in someone else’s body is both unappealing and intimidating.

Veronica takes a deep breath and carefully slides the forceps into the wound. “I feel like I’m playing Operation,” she half-whispers. JD grunts through clenched teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. The blood inside the wound makes it hard to grasp the bullet, but after adjusting her angle Veronica is able to get a good enough grip on it to dislodge it and pull it out completely. 

“Got it!” She looks up, breathing heavily, and holds the bloodied forceps in front of JD’s face in triumph. He slowly opens his eyes and exhales, untangling his fingers from his hair. 

“Good. That’s good. Now just the stitches.” JD’s eyelids are becoming heavy but he fights to stay conscious despite the feeling of fire searing through his gut.

“I think I’ve got this part, at least,” Veronica says, fumbling for and eventually threading the surgical needle. She looks up and realizes, very belatedly, exactly how much pain JD must be in. He is staring into space, eyes glazed over and hands fisted in the quilt draped over his shoulders. Veronica reaches up and rests her hand on his cheek. He leans into the touch and returns to reality a bit, Veronica’s features sharpening in front of his vision.

“You gonna be okay?” she asks, moving her hand to his shoulder to steady him. He flinches and makes a small noise but recovers quickly. “Shit, shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s. You’re fine.” JD laughs but it sounds like a wheeze.

“Okay. Well, I’m gonna keep going then. Hang in there,” Veronica says, pinching the skin of the wound together and making the first stitch.

JD grins hazily. The pain is beginning to become numbness and he wonders idly if that’s a bad sign. “Like the cat on the poster.”

“Yeah, like the cat. Except I don’t think it got itself shot in a botched mass bombing attempt,” Veronica says flatly.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh,” JD says and waves his free hand drunkenly, “if I didn’t know better I’d think you just wanna rag on me.” He stiffens as Veronica ties off another stitch.

“Yeah, JD. That’s it. It’s not at all the fact that you don’t seem to feel remotely guilty for what went down today.”

JD feels dangerously close to passing out and is finding it difficult to conjure a sympathetic, appropriate response. He settles for honesty. “Mmm well. You know. No harm no foul, right?” 

Veronica stops mid-stitch and grabs his wrist roughly, looking up at him. Beads of sweat have formed on his forehead and his hair is either matted to it or sticking up awkwardly. 

His brow knits together when he tardily recognizes her touch. “Hmm? What’s wrong?”

Veronica’s vitriolic retort dies in her throat. “Nothing,” she says, huffing and moving to continue the last few stitches. Unloading on a barely coherent invalid seems too cruel, even if he does deserve it. “How did you manage to survive that explosion, anyway?”

JD shakes his head lightly in order to clear the spots from his vision. “I’m not sure. It’s, um. I got lucky I guess. And, you know, the vest. Thought ahead with that one, I didn’t have a death wish or anything.”

After tying off the final stitch, Veronica daubs antibiotic ointment on the area and secures large amounts of gauze to it with medical tape. She cleans up the supplies and sits on the bed next to JD, curling her hand loosely around his. 

“Did you mean anything you said before the bomb went off?” she asks, kicking herself internally for sounding so desperate.

JD blinks and stares at the floor before squeezing Veronica’s hand lightly. “I’m not… sure,” he admits, brow furrowed, “I’m never sure, really. I know that I love you, but everything else just seems to blur at the edges. It sounded good in the moment though, didn’t it?” 

Veronica frowns and kicks her feet back and forth. “Yeah, it did.”

“Good. I’m glad,” JD says, smiling distantly before resting his head on her shoulder. “You can pretend that’s how it ended, if you want. It’s cleaner.”

“I think I might.” 

Several silent minutes pass and eventually JD begins to sag against Veronica. She sighs and checks his pulse and breathing. Satisfied, she lays him down on the bed and pulls the sheets and quilt up to cover him. Before gathering her things, she touches his cheek lightly and smooths his bangs from his forehead, leaving the canvas bag and first aid kit on the bed beside him.

He had been right when he said he was too damaged. 

She heads to the door, feeling distinctly hopeless and exhausted, pausing when she sees the hotel’s note pad sitting on the desk. 

She picks up the pen and writes.

_“So, now that you’re dead, what are you gonna do with your life?”_


End file.
